


must be fate (or just coincidence)

by Emlee_J



Series: One Hundred and Seventy-Two Centimetres [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Pro Volleyball Player Hinata Shouyou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:29:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emlee_J/pseuds/Emlee_J
Summary: Shouyou holds a form from the Japan’s National Men’s Volleyball Team.It’s not very long. It’s just for his uniform.It wants his measurements, his shoe size, things like that. The requirements to make a uniform tailored for him and only him. He drops the form back down onto the desk and taps his pencil against the paper. He’s already filled out the sections for his measurements and now there’s only one left.What number he wants.-In which the freak duo return to the stage.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Series: One Hundred and Seventy-Two Centimetres [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931680
Comments: 68
Kudos: 1197





	must be fate (or just coincidence)

**Author's Note:**

> i think it's fair to say the image of hinata and kageyama going back to the og nine and ten again has been giving me brainrot for days

Shouyou stares down at the form on his desk in his small, rented apartment. Picks it up, flips it over. Sees the blank underside. Flips it back. Blows out a breath. The air conditioning unit hums above him, the sound of a door closing echoes through the thin walls; a neighbour leaving.

Shouyou tilts back on his chair, the legs at the front rocking up off the ground, and stares up at his off-white ceiling, and tries not to cry.

It’s a little stupid. He’s twenty-three years old. He’s a fully independent adult with a career. He has a ring on his fourth finger.

He’s also holding a form from the Japan’s National Men’s Volleyball Team.

It’s not very long. It’s just for his uniform.

It wants his measurements, his shoe size, things like that. The requirements to make a uniform tailored for him and only him. It still feels so surreal, even though he’s had a few weeks to process _that_ phone call.

He drops the form back down onto the desk and taps his pencil against the paper. He’s already filled out the sections for his measurements (he’d even managed to write them down, knowing they’re smaller than average, without a wince. It feels good) and now there’s only one section left.

What number he wants.

There’s space for three choices, in case another player picks out the same number and he has to choose another.

He’s tempted to write down 21 to match with his MSBY jersey, like Kageyama has done, but it doesn’t feel right. He clucks his tongue and writes it down in the second place spot. He’ll take it if he can’t have what he wants, he supposes.

But what _does_ he want?

Shouyou taps the end of his pencil against his chin. Pops it into his mouth and chews on the wood as he stares off into space. This is his number on the _national team_ , the thing he’s been waiting for since he was a scrawny teenager with nothing but a decent jump and a head full of dreams. This is _important._

He considers calling Kageyama, but decides against it. Knowing his partner, the man has already filled it out and sent it in without a second thought. He chose 20 on a whim when he first went pro, Shouyou already knows. It’s probably 20 again.

(He picked 21 when he joined the Jackals _because_ Kageyama was 20, a secret he keeps close but thinks Kageyama knows about anyway.)

He considers calling Atsumu-san, or Bokuto-san, who both seem like they would put a little more thought into what they wanted, but his stomach squirms. It feels childish almost. It’s not that big of a deal, it’s just a number. He crunches down on the wood of his pencil and glares down at the form. What does he _want?_

And then, in a burst of clarity, as realisation coalesces in on him all at once, it comes to him.

Because, really, what else could it be?

Something familiar, something nostalgic and boyish and tinged with childish excitement, tingles in his chest as he grins, pokes his tongue between his lips and writes down the only number it could really be.

Because if _he’s_ standing on the court beside him, there’s only one number it could _possibly_ be.

The uniform fittings are a week later.

He barely says hi when he arrives, just hollers out a greeting aimed at everybody in the room, zooms straight past Kageyama even (who had ducked down to, presumably, press a discreet kiss to his crown, and was left half bending over and looking extremely put out.) And rushes straight to one of the managers handing out the uniforms.

It should be just a boring, formal thing, where they tugged the uniforms on and checked them, and then handed back to be kept safe until it was time to play. And indeed, most of his (new, monstrous) teammates are in the midst of getting dressed and idly chatting, not really paying attention to their shorts or the numbers on their chests. But for most of them, this isn’t their first fitting. But for Shouyou, it _is_ , and he suddenly feels fifteen all over again as he carefully unwraps the plastic packaging from his very first national team jersey and holds it up.

His eyes flit from the scarlet to the stitching of the flag on the breast. To each, bright white letter that spells out his name across the shoulders and the black striping down the sides. And then, finally, to the number on the middle, one he hadn’t worn in seven years, old and familiar and _home._

Shouyou sucks in a breath that rattles his lungs and strips off his t-shirt and ignores the sting in his eyes. Pulls the scarlet jersey on and relishes the feel of the cool, stretchy fabric across his skin. It settles perfectly, a swath of red that sets his heart into a tumble. He pats the front of it with tentative fingers and feels a grin split across his face so wide his cheeks hurt. He feels like if he jumped now he could brush the sun itself.

A hand settles gently at the small of his back and he blinks, twisting his head up to be met with Kageyama, who has gravitated to his side having gotten changed himself and is looking down at him with a undiscernible expression.

“You too, huh?” Is what he says, and Shouyou cocks his head further in confusion before he spots the number that shines out on his partner’s chest.

9.

There’s a brief moment, where Shouyou simply stares and his brain fills with static. Then he blinks, and it clears, and he feels the grin return, albeit rather wobbly and sort of wet. “Did you plan this?” He asks, and Kageyama snorts, and shuffles a little closer, so that his words are nearly muffled by Shouyou’s hair.

“Nope. Total coincidence.”

“Then it’s fate,” Shouyou grins and Kageyama grins too, pinches the skin of his waist through his jersey.

“I said it was coincidence.”

Shouyou pinches him back and then looks down at their jerseys, where Kageyama’s 9 stands proud next to his 10 once more.

Twisting his body, Shouyou hugs Kageyama, brief and fierce, presses his face into a broad shoulder and feels a kiss brushed against his temple. Then he breaks away, aware of their company, and is met with several _knowing_ stares.

“They’re back!” Bokuto sings from somewhere in the crowd, as Sakusa furrows his brow and Hoshiumi darts up close to show off his 5. Atsumu laughs from off to the side, amused and sly, and looks oddly satisfied as he pulls on his 11, runs a hand down his chest. Looming behind him, Ushijima stares at them with a blank face and fire in his eyes and Hibarida’s gaze glitters next to him.

“National stage!” Shouyou hollers back and is met with a cheer.

A hand clasps around his, a matching ring knocks against his knuckles, and then Kageyama is lifting their fists into their air alongside their team. Neither of them are fully dressed. Shouyou hasn’t pulled his shorts on and Kageyama’s barefoot, but nobody is. The herd of monsters jeer and the older members jeer quieter and Shouyou bumps his shoulder against his partner’s.

The first game isn’t for weeks yet, but Shouyou can see it. The stadium, the crowd and the court. The noise and the lights. A ball flies into his palm – perfect – stings his skin as he makes contact with the leather and scores the point. The other team blink, in shock and in awe, as the freak duo stand proud and lethal on the world stage.

“It’s only one that felt right,” Kageyama tells him later, once they’re back at his place and eating dinner. “Number nine, I mean.”

Shouyou beams and leans across the table to kiss him quick, the lingering taste of soy sauce on his lips. “Yeah,” he breathes, as sheer unfiltered happiness sparks through him and is reflected in the blue of his partner’s eyes. “That’s why I matched you.”

**Author's Note:**

> TO EXPLAIN A BIT: in my head, this occurs after the 2018/19 division 1 season, in the summer. hinata got recruited to the national team after blowing the socks off everyone in his debut season - he's currently still with MSBY, but kageyama's wrapped up with the adlers and is prepping to go to Italy once the international season is done (which is why they aren't currently living together, because they'll be travelling for competitions soon anyway and then tobio's moving abroad)
> 
> come and yell at me about haikyuu over on twitter! @Emlee_J


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